God Help the Outcasts
by NakanoHana
Summary: A tale of two boys making a life for themselves on the streets of Paris, and the unfortunate treatment of gypsies and outcasts alike. Set in HunchbackofNotreDame. Akuroku
1. Chapter 1

For those of you who wonder, all french in here was from google translate. Yeah, I didn't learn my lesson from my Beauty and the Beast story :). blame the translator though, if something is wrong, and feel free to correct me if you want. Not just if it makes you feel important though, please. I want this to be a serious story, and so of course, the language should be right. TwT This story will have multiple chapters. It was originally part of my drabble series, but since not many people read it or review seriously, I felt like giving this its own place among my tales.

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><p><em>God help the outcasts<em>  
><em>Hungry from birth<em>  
><em>Show them the mercy<em>  
><em>They don't find on earth<em>  
><em>God help my people<em>  
><em>We look to You still<em>  
><em>God help the outcasts<em>  
><em>Or nobody will.<em>

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Every morning began with a glorious sunrise, casting both light and shadow over the streets of Paris. Doors and windows were soon thrown open to greet the morning; the furnaces of the ironworks puffed heavy waves of smoke out the chimneys, and the tailor came out and greeted passersby with his usual friendly, "_Bonjour!_" The women of the city woke their children and sent them off, and very soon, the streets were bustling with people from all over. Travelers were looked upon with curious, if not suspicious eyes, and the outright strange were avoided.

A few banners hung about the streets from the lamp posts; with posters of magnificent feats, displayed by a dramatic clash of color. The Festival of Fools would be that afternoon.

A boy sat upon one of the rooftops, watching the chaos below with mild interest. He was not there for the sightseeing, though it always amused him to no end. The city looked peaceful and beautiful, especially cast in the shadow of Notre Dame, the ancient and beautiful cathedral, but it never ceased to amaze how truly different and peculiar its denizens were. So many of them bustling about their business, hardly bothering with anyone else. And still the eyes. The glances cast from one side of the crowd to the next. Nothing was truly peaceful when the air was tense with worry and suspicion.

Suspicion mostly harbored against people like him.

Still, the boy smiled. He had loved the city once, and his friend, in his infinite naïveté, loved it all the more. Having lived there all their lives, the city was their one and only mother. Any bitterness he felt was for the nursemaids she housed and employed, not the _Grande Mère_ herself. Unlike her, they felt no connection to outcasts.

"_Vente de pain frais à la vente!_ Won't you try some? Fresh bread for sale!"

The boy looked straight down the roof to see the baker out selling his wares.

_'Ah, finally.'_

Very carefully and quietly, he slipped down the roof and waited until the man had wandered out into the street, speaking with a young woman. While they were determining a price for a few pastries, the boy listened carefully, and crept over to the window where a loaf of freshly baked bread sat. He could smell it as he came closer. Warm and fresh. Not a gourmet meal by any standards, but to one who wandered the streets, it smelled like a heavenly feast.

The young redhead turned to make sure the baker and the woman were still preoccupied before snatching the bread, hiding it under his coat as he left the scene, with practiced slowness. The man was sure to see him if he ran; all the suspicious people ran. It was the first way to arouse suspicion, and a sure-fire way to get caught if you were guilty. Axel had learned many times that guilty was not good for any man's health. Guilty in the book of the Judge Claude Frollo was worthy of extreme, gruesome, terrible pain, and for the especially unlucky ones, death.

He reached an alleyway and paused to pull out the bread and give it a once over. Morning-fresh, no trace of mold. Perfect. But he wouldn't eat it now. No doubt his friend was still waiting at home, hungry, and Axel had enough manners to wait until they could share this bread together. Besides, he loved eating with him.

Despite the differences between them, the two boys considered themselves 'orphans.' Their families became dead to them long ago. Axel had met Roxas one faithful night in a similar alley to this, being abused a drunken man. Even young as they were, Axel had fought off the foul man and saved the smaller boy, and ever since that time, the two had been inseparable. Axel grew to love the boy so quickly, and strove to be his friend, his brother, his mother, his father. Everything the blonde would ever need, he wanted to be. No one else needed.

And that still held true for the redhead even after they had joined the gypsies. When the two of them were finally offered something of a home by Clopin Trouillefou, when Axel agreed to burn those twin tear marks under his eyes, and accepted his new name, he did it all in the vain hope that, despite everything the harsh life in Paris streets would hold for them, that above all Roxas would be happy. As happy as he could be, enough to smile. Because that smile was the only thing that kept him going.

As Axel navigated through the alleys and around the buildings back toward the graveyard, he smiled as he the sound of a familiar pipe. Turning east instead, he followed the sound out into another street and found a small band of gypsies begging outside an old book store. He saw a few people he knew, playing music and dancing around the hat on the ground, but his eyes were trained on the one unusual gypsy. The one with fair skin, chopped, spiked blonde hair, and the delicate, almost girlish face. The boy's frail but potent radiance could shine through the foulest dirt any day.

Roxas was an average dancer, but he moved with such a passion that the fact almost seemed irrelevant. The boy smiled and laughed and danced like there was no pain, as though he'd never suffered a day in his life. It wasn't true, of course, but the fact that he could get so lost in it and enjoy it so much made Axel's heart soar. The little bells on his sleeves chimed softly as he spun, ending the song with a very graceful bow. It hardly dampened his spirits at all as people walked on, some unimpressed, suspicious, or just too busy with their own lives.

"Ah, Axel! _Il est bon de tu voir!"_

Roxas looked over, elated when he heard the boy's name. Axel waved off the other gypsy with a smile before spiky blonde hair assaulted his vision. He was almost thrown backwards as small arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing gently as the younger boy's head buried itself into his chest.

"Woah!" He stumbled back, chuckling. "It's good to see you too, Roxas."

The other gypsies laughed with good humor. To say the city-folk often looked unkindly upon men so friendly who were not blood related would be a dire understatement. But among most the other outcasts, the boys were welcomed and generally that disagreed kept their distance for the most part.

"He's been talking about the festival all morning!" the oldest man chuckled warmly. He favored Roxas with a wide smile. "You're a lucky one, boy, if you are good enough to dance alongside Esmerelda!"

Axel looked down, both surprised and excited by that. He knew how long the boy had been begging to perform on a larger scale. And dancing with Esmerelda, the best dancer in the troupe, was a high honor.

"Really? Clopin agreed to let you dance?"

Roxas beamed up at him, his smile the very picture of sunshine.

"Yes! I showed both of them and they said I could do it! Isn't that great?"

"Wonderful, Roxas. I know you'll do well, _mon petit chou." _He placed a sweet kiss on the blonde's forehead, just below his hairline. Roxas flushed slightly at the affection, but continued to smile long afterward. They ignored the cross looks of several of the townspeople. "If my act isn't going on during that time, I'll come and watch you both."

"It shouldn't be," Hortense, one of the thinner, younger girls added helpfully. "Clopin would never let anything upstage Esmerelda."

"Nothing but you," Axel whispered, before turning to the elders to speak of more important matters. The blonde smiled softly and laid his head onto his chest, nestling closer, just listening while Axel discussed details about the festival with the others.

They dismissed themselves to go prepare, and the two boys remained close for a few minutes after that, blissfully ignoring the curious stares of people on their way.

"Let's do our best today, Aimé."

The redhead found an adorably determined look on that young face and couldn't help but nod.

"I will if you will, René."

The blonde frowned, slapping his arm lightly. "You know what I mean. Please just do your act today. I don't care what Clopin asks you to do."

The redhead blinked. How much did he know now?

Inside his coat, his fingers drummed along the loaf of stolen bread, his mind already trying to console the guilty conscience.

_'Just agree. Don't tell him where you got the bread. If he asks-'_

A sigh interrupted him mid thought. "You stole, didn't you?"

Chuckling awkwardly, the redhead withdrew the bread from his coat, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Looks like you caught me."

"Aimé!"

"What? It's not like it hurts anyone!"

"It's still wrong!" the blonde persisted, stamping his foot for emphasis, a frown weighing heavily on his delicate features. They had talked about this all before, but mostly for grand thefts he had committed. It was a subject the blonde fought religiously against. "It doesn't _hurt_ him, but it takes away from his stock and earnings! It's not right! What if he has a family to feed?"

The older boy snorted, pouting. "I know for a fact that he doesn't."

"You're making a worse name for us than we already have."

"I know!" The older boy heaved a heavy sigh, lowering the hand with the bread. "I know. I just...You know how I feel. I just don't want you to go hungry. You work so hard, but you always make so little. We need to make up for it somehow."

"But it's okay," René said eagerly, his tone and gaze becoming gentle once more. "Together, we make enough. And the troupe takes care of its own, you know. Clopin would never let us starve."

"What makes you think he doesn't steal and cheat people out of their money like everybody else?" He hated pointing it out, but still.

The younger boy paused, taken aback by the sudden harsh tone.

"Then...Then we'll only rely on ourselves from now on. I'll work harder."

Axel winced. He hated making the blonde sad, but it was clear he had done just that. He knew the gypsies _did_ steal a bit, but he had to remember that Roxas had greater faith in people. The abuse and years in the streets did nothing to shake his trust in others.

Most of the gypsies were pleasantly charmed by his worldview, though, and Esmerelda loved and doted on him like a little brother. She was a good person like him, but was more realistic, like Aimé. She understood the struggle to preserve life in a harsh, unforgiving city.

Aimé sighed, letting a small smile tug at his lips. He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy once more, knowing he had lost before this argument had even begun. The blonde just had that effect on him...

"Alright. If it means that much to you, I promise not to steal during the festival." The rest of the week might be a stretch, however. They had to find ways to eat somehow. There was no chance that Clopin would just let them eat for nothing, but his friend didn't need to know that.

René gave him a look, but seemed to accept the answer. He didn't push anymore. He simply accepted the bread and ate it graciously, as the two sat down in the alley and just enjoyed the day.

"I love the festival. It makes the whole city seem so happy."

"Not too much else to smile about these days," Aimé added, tearing into a big bite of bread with his teeth. "It's wrong though, if you think about it. It's a day to laugh at freaks and crown the ugliest of them all."

The younger boy frowned slightly. "I guess so. Do you always have to look at the downside of things?"

"Someone has to."

René sighed, but let a small smile cross his face. "You act like such an hardened old man. Do you remember the first thing you said to me when we first met?"

The redhead paused. When he didn't answer for a minute, his friend replied, overly serious, "'You stupid kid! What kind of idiot is out in the streets this late at night?' You sounded so ancient, scolding me like that."

Aimé grumbled softly to himself, even as he felt the smaller boy scoot closer and nestle up against his side. "You're still as hard-headed as you were then. Maybe more now. But you know, I just can't imagine where I'd be without you."

"Lying dead in an alley with a knife stabbed in your gut."

The boy snorted, hitting his shoulder lightly. "Thanks a lot."

A grin answered him.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Aimé watched with mild humor as the blonde shoved a large piece of bread in his mouth. It looked almost too large to fit. When the older boy chuckled, René shot him a look, cheeks puffed out slightly with food. "What?"

"You call me old, but look at you! You act like such a boy," the redhead said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders while his other hand ruffled the boy's hair. "Quite a clever boy, though."

René was spoiled because he had come from a relatively wealthy family, and he used his boyish charm to get just about anything he wanted. The redhead laughed as he realized he never needed to steal at all. He could just bring René along with him and just have him stand there and cry. It would probably work, too.

Or maybe that was just the blonde's effect on him.

René was done pouting, but he noticed the older boy's suppressed chuckle and looked at him with slightly miffed curiosity. "What are you laughing at?"

Aimé brushed it off quickly, still grinning. "Nothing. Just a strange image."

"Of what?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me!"

"Not a chance."

"Aimé!"

"_Roxas, Axel, venez vite!_" A voice called from down the alleyway. "The festival starts at noon! No time to dawdle!"

The blonde smiled again, quickly calling out that they would only be a moment. He seemed to forget the argument very quickly, as he rose from the ground and brushed off his clothes before turning to his childhood friend.

"We should go, Axel."

The redhead nodded, accepting a hand. The others would need help finishing up before everything got underway.

"Sure thing, Roxas."

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People wandered aimlessly in and out of tents in the blazing mid morning sun. There were all sorts of games and stands of merchandise set up, all displayed with bright colors and the enticing voices beckoning customers to their doors.

Many people gasped with horror and delight as Axel took a baton and breathed fire on the end of it. After repeating the act with another baton, he twirled them, around himself, in the air, all over for the crowd's enjoyment. They were even more amazed when he took each one individually and stuck them in his mouth. It was all a trick, really; he had coated his skin, his mouth, and throat with a special mixture that kept the flames from burning him. He had always had a passion for fire in his youth, but only now, after he'd been thrown out by his old man and told he'd be worth nothing, could he actually do what he wanted.

_'Suck that, old man...'_

Pulling the other fiery baton from his mouth, he threw them both in the air with practiced ease, letting them twirl until finally, they landed in a barrel of water nearby. A steamy hiss escaped the barrel, but that was the end of it. The redhead made a deep bow and smiled at the clapping crowd. He ignored the strange looks of some of them and held out a hat, hoping someone would drop something in.

But too many people left the circle, not paying nor cheering. Axel was only able to collect a few shoddy coins, but he wasn't all that surprised. Times were hard in Paris with Frollo in charge; he cracked down on everyone harshly with taxes and coercion. The guards harassed anyone whenever they wanted to pick a fight, and the ever-gracious judge, who claimed he spoke and acted with God in mind, always turned a blind eye. It made him angry, but then again, there was nothing he could do.

Still, Axel relished in the small victory. This was one less meal he would have to steal, once Clopin had his cut. He'd probably still have to do some work for the man, but..._c'est la vie..._

He watched the crowd for a while after that. There was no point in starting up another act when the main events were coming up in less than a half hour. So he looked out into the sea of masks and colors. Today was a day when fools could be fools; people acted silly, pulled pranks, and sometimes even committed crimes. All hidden behind their happy masks. Everyone knew how Frollo hated the festival and all it stood for; the dregs of human kind, all mixed together in a shallow, drunken stupor. But that was part of its appeal. The man could endure it for one day.

It pleased the mob that was Paris.

At one point, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to face a beaming Roxas, all dressed up in reds, purples, and golds. His costume was tight fitting and moveable, just like Esmerelda's as he had seen earlier, and he had a similar headpiece, almost completely camouflaged by his golden hair.

Roxas really stood out among the other gypsies. Axel did with his red, spiky hair, but at least it was dark, and his skin tanned easily in the sun. Roxas always seemed pale; not sickly so, all the time, but he never seemed to burn, and when he tanned, it was barely noticeable. It was like his skin was marble, and yet it was so much warmer and more feeling than any stone. Especially in clothes like those, the redhead wanted to feel how soft it was, and hold him.

Overall, the outfit made for a pleasing package, and Axel felt his firm self-control wavering at the sight alone.

"Well," Roxas asked, a touch nervously as he tugged at his sleeve. "Does it look good?"

Axel chuckled, quickly grabbing the boy and pulling him backwards into an unoccupied immediately tugged the blonde close and began kissing down every bit of his neck heatedly, hands roaming over silky fabric.

"It's beautiful. _C'est magnifique. Tu avez l'air ravissante. Je-"_

"Aimé, Aimé! Stop that!" the boy cried, a deep blush spreading over his face. He shivered as he felt the older boy's lips still lingering on his throat, open and warm. "Someone will see..."

The redhead spoke between passionate kisses. "That's why...I moved us...So we...Could be alone..."

The blonde pushed him back slightly. "Not here. Please."

"Alright," he sighed heavily, right after giving the boy an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Things had become so much more complicated since he had admitted his love. His devotion to the blonde had been so deep; he hadn't realized it for so long. It had taken nearly losing René to show him how deeply his feelings ran. The blonde was shy and innocent, but simply being together, alive and well, was enough for now. He had made Aime so happy merely by returning his feelings.

"We'll save _that _for later."

The blonde shook his head, still blushing deeply. "You're such a pervert...But I have my answer." A small, mischievous smile took the place of the previously bemused one. It was still a bit shy, despite his best efforts. "I'm glad you like it."

He could tell the redhead was about to start up again, so he leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a quick kiss. Before Aimé could even blink, the smaller boy had slipped away, leaving him feeling slightly frustrated. The blonde peered back through the folded tent flap.

"Don't forget to come out and watch me." And then he was gone.

The redhead paused a moment, deciding whether or not he would let the boy get away with that. He could easily give chase, but then...

_"Attention, s'il vous plaît! _The Feast of Fools will soon commence! Gather in the square, and the true festivities will begin!"

It was too late now. If he wanted to watch the blonde dance, he would have to leave him be.

"Little tease." With a shrug and a smirk, Axel exited the tent and moved with the crowd, listening to the jeers and gossip as they approached the square. There was plenty of dancing and singing, and soon, the old gypsy appeared in a blaze of colored smoke.

"Welcome, welcome, to the Festival of Fools!" Clopin shouted above the noise. "Once a year, we throw a party here in town!"

"Once a year we turn all parties upside down!" the crowd sang back in reply.

"Every man's a king and every king's a clown! Once again, it's topsy-turvy day!"

"Good, good! Good to see everyone is having fun!" He turned back toward the stage, winking. Axel could tell; he was motioning for his two dancers to prepare. It was almost time for Roxas to perform...

Looking around the crowd, as Clopin began the song again, he saw several things. Among many elaborate and colorful costumes, there was a rather large man, hunched over, with an incredible mask. From here, it looked almost indistinguishable from the rest of him. The reason Axel saw him was because, unlike the roaring, excited crowd around, this man seemed shy, anxious. Almost like he'd rather be somewhere else.

Then he glanced away nervously, and Axel followed his gaze to where Judge Frollo was seated, looking as disgusted and angry as ever. What was that about? Even for such a cruel man, wasn't this a day to celebrate?

"Now, see the finest pair in France! Make an entrance to entranced! That's right, you know the one! But this year, she has a partner! Dance, Esmerelda! Dance Roxas! Dance!"

With a flash, he was gone, and in his place stood a beautiful raven-haired woman, her skin warm and gleaming in the sunlight. And next to her, almost a stark contrast, stood Roxas, pale and blonde, glancing out at the crowd seductively as his partner did.

It was like a cracked mirror; two figures, moving in sync, and yet so utterly different, that you would never swear they were twins. Esmerelda took a step, bracelets jangling around her ankles, and Roxas followed with practiced ease and timing, copying her moves from the other side. The way they moved was as seductive as their glances, and as the mob cheered and cat-called to them, the two joined hands and turned on the balls of their feet, spinning gracefully. The fact that they contrasted so much in appearance...actually made them more fascinating...

It was beautiful, somehow. Axel couldn't take his eyes away, for they were trained on his secret lover, mesmerized by the movement of his hips and shoulders. Oh, the things he did to him, without even trying.

Esmerelda paused and whispered something in Roxas's ear. The blonde's face lit up with amusement, and he giggled, stepping back into the shadows a bit as the other gypsy pranced over to Judge Frollo's chair. The man looked decidely uncomfortable, especially when the woman practically climbed into his lap. The crowd sniggered and cat-called even louder.

_"Qui est le fou?"_

The old judge turned red in the face, but whether by embarrassment or anger, Axel couldn't say. He watched, chuckling with the rest of them, when Esmerelda leaned forward as if to kiss him, only to stuff his hat down on his face and dance away. As he glared at her, she gave him a mischievous pout, before bowing smugly and gesturing Roxas to come back. Grabbing a staff from the guard nearest to her, she wanted until Roxas did the same, then thrust it into the wood of the stage. Hiking up one smooth leg, each wrapped around the poles and spun until they came back down, before bowing to the crowd.

"Excellent!" Clopin said, bowing with them and accepting more and more coins as they were thrown at the stage. Axel imagined that most of those were for Esmerelda, but he also saw a few eager-looking women in the crowd and chuckled.

_'Little do they know, he's mine.'_

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the _pièce de résistance! _It's time to crown the king of fools!"

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"Roxas, you were wonderful out there!"

The blonde blushed a little at his partner's praise, as the two slipped away to their respective tents to change costumes.

"Thank you. I'm nowhere near as good as you though," he said, bowing his head demurely. "You were the best, you know. You owned that stage, Esmerelda!"

The gypsy laughed, brushing a bit of her thick hair off her shoulder, as she reached up to remove her tiara. "Maybe, but the day belongs to both of us. I'm glad Clopin decided to let you dance. You have a real passion for it, I can tell."

Roxas smiled sheepishly, as she added, "Isn't that right, Jolly?"

The goat, who had joined them behind the stage, gave a grunt of what he assumed was approval. The blonde laughed, then disappeared behind the flap of his tent, immediately picking out a forest green tunic with light grey sleeves and brown hose. He knew he'd seen Axel watching, staring at him appreciatively from the crowd. Just the memory of how _hungry_ he looked made the boy squirm a little, but in a good way. Though he was admittedly shier about their affair, he couldn't deny that he loved the effect he had on the redhead. It made him feel so wanted, so loved...

He hadn't known any sort of real love before meeting the older boy. Unlike Aimé, who was thrown out and content with living in the streets, René had come from a moderately wealthy family. He was used to being given many things, and yet he could never get the attention he really craved from his parents. They were too concerned with money to care for him by themselves, always leaving him in the care of a nursemaid or tutor.

And then came Luxord, his newest tutor. A man who, at first, appeared young and kind, but turned out to be vicious and perverse. The man had tried to touch him, to hurt him when his parents were out and much of the staff was occupied. René had begged his parents to believe him, pleaded with them, and yet they never batted an eye. The man continued to make advances on him, so that one night, he decided to simply ran away.

It was raining, dark and murky in the streets, as a fog settled down low in the cool night air. He ran, not many possessions packed in his bag, into the dark night, not knowing where he would go or how he would survive. But still, he ran on.

He passed a local tavern in his haste, and who should literally stumble upon him but Luxord?

He had chased the boy into an alley and cornered him, grabbed him. He began attacking him again, when suddenly he stopped.

A little dirty red-haired boy came in and defended him, drove the horrid man away somehow. And even after all that, he still rounded on Rene and mustered a rant at him for being so foolish. Paris was no place to be wandering around this time of night!

The redhead's harshness hadn't lasted long, though. Seeing Rene crying in the rain, cold and frightened and homeless, he sighed and helped the younger boy to his feet, then offered his poorly-sheltered little hideaway in the alley to him for the night.

The boy shuddered at the memory, but couldn't hep but smile at the end. That single night's stay became many, until the two of them just decided they would live together however they could.

So much had happened since then. They'd overcome a great darkness, been given new names, a new home, anything they could have ever needed by the gypsies. It was a pretty good life; good enough for him. But still, some days he worried about his friend. Aimé still remained so cynical and dark, perhaps even more now. The blonde could never really figure it out, but he had his own suspicions...

Roxas had no idea how long he'd been standing there, dressed and thinking to himself, when he heard loud jeers from the crowd. What was going on?

Poking his head out of the flap of the tent, he found himself suddenly afraid to go out. Something sounded off; very wrong. Should he go and see, or let Clopin and the others take care of it?

_'But what about Esmerelda?'_

Glancing over at her tent, Roxas noticed that she and Jolly were gone. Maybe they'd left already. He couldn't hear what the people had been shouting before, but as he turned back to look at the back of the big square stage, he froze for a second.

Why was it so quiet now?

He got closer to the stage and peered around nervously. He gasped at the angry look on both figures' faces, more so of the man who held all of Paris under his crushing grip.

"You, gypsy girl! Get down at once!"

"Yes, your honor. Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!"

It was one thing to gently prod and tease the man on this day, but to outright defy him. That was dangerous, and had the potential to get everyone else in danger as well. Roxas crept further out, now pushing through the awestruck crowd, as the exchange continued. Most of them were so tall, though, that he couldn't see over top of them.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people! You speak of justice, yet your are cruel to those most in need of your help!"

"SILENCE!"

"JUSTICE!" he heard Esmerelda shout back. He could feel the rage in her just by hearing her voice. Once he got to a place where he could see, he looked up, shocked, to find a raised platform and a badly-beaten, grime-covered, hunchback man tied to it. The bell ringer?

He had heard stories told about him, all myths and legends of course. Never had he believed that the man actually existed. It was just too implausible. But there he was. It had to be him. He was so deformed and hunched, but something in his eyes held...fear? As Roxas approached the steps, unhindered by the shoving and bustling of the crowd around him, he suddenly ached to go to this man. He really didn't look evil or vile, despite his appearance.

Why would anyone treat him so cruelly?

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Axel had watched, entranced and horrified, as the scene unfolded before him. The bell ringer _did _exist! And what was more, he really did have the ugliest face in Paris! Esmerelda had brought the man up on stage with her, as her choice for the contest, and tried to 'unmask' him before the crowd. Only to see that it was no mask...

A scene of utter chaos had unfolded. First, Clopin tried to control the crowd, assuring them that this was indeed what they looked for in the King of Fools. He was acclaimed so quickly after that, but then...

One tomato had been enough to cause jeers to erupt from the crowds. Men had thrown things at him, laughed, even tied him down. Axel watched in horror as he finally rose, mustering enough rage to fight back, but it was too late. How they had tormented this man sickened him inside. He didn't move to stop them or help, just like the rest of his troupe. They only looked on sadly, or looked away, unable and unwilling to step up.

Then, Esmerelda appeared out of the crowd. She calmly approached this deformed, ugly man, and comforted him. Now she even looked ready to cut him loose. As she did, however, Axel's eye moved lower suddenly, catching a spiky tuft of blonde hair, moving out of the crowd and up toward the staircase.

_'René, what are you doing?' _he thought worriedly. _'No, no, no!'_

But the blonde paid no heed, didn't even look his way. Instead, as Frollo and Esmerelda continued to exchange angry words, the boy climbed the steps slowly, seemingly ignorant of all around him.

Then Frollo ordered his men to move forward and arrest her. Axel instantly began to panic. Esmerelda could take care of herself, he knew, but Roxas was in the middle of all that confusion. The soldiers could go after him. He could be hurt.

_"Do you want to protect him?"_

Axel remembered the words vaguely as he sprang into action, pushing hurriedly through the crowd just as Esmerelda pulled a vanishing trick. The crowd gasped.

"Oh boys!"

The guards turned and began to pursue her elsewhere, and Roxas finally reached the top of those stairs, walking to the hunchback, who was kneeling and looking ashamed of himself. He seemed afraid, and tried to back away when the blonde approached. Axel couldn't hear what the boy said, but he watched as he took that deformed face in his hands and whispered gently to him.

The redhead focused on was getting to him in time, before complete chaos erupted.

Crowds-people and gypsies alike began scrambling, avoiding the soldiers and the confusion as Esmerelda foiled them at every turn.

"Ah!"

As he shoved through the throngs of scattered people, Axel's ears perked when he heard a startled cry from above. His eyes narrowed as he saw a soldier had quickly scaled the steps and grabbed Roxas's arm. The boy struggled against him, but he was not strong enough to break free.

"Let me go!"

No one else paid any heed. They were too busy running and gathering together. Axel was up the steps in seconds and grabbed the man forcefully by the back of his tunic. He pulled roughly and sent the man plummeting off the platform to the ground a little ways below. Unless he broke his neck, the fall wouldn't kill him. Hopefully.

That done, the redhead pushed Roxas behind him and drew out his long knife from his pocket, flashing it at anyone who tried to take the blonde away from him. A couple of men had noticed their cohort fall, and went to ambush the boys.

The blonde behind him was frantic. "Axel!"

"Stay behind me!" The redhead lunged at the first man who approached. No one saw the hunchback slip down the back of the platform and leave, going to face the wrath of his cruel master.

Axel stabbed a man in the arm and pushed him back, moving to block an attempt at his head. He failed, and suddenly was met with a throbbing pain that threatened to dissolve his consciousness. The last thing he heard was his lover screaming for him, as he fell into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Do you wish to save him?"_

_Dull, hopeless eyes looked up from the ground, rising up dark, colorful boots, rising, rising until..._

_A mask?_

_The sound of broken, harsh breathing was still on the air. And every time he heard it, there was a painful clenching in his heart, further jabbing in the knife of despair._

_His eyes only dwelled a minute on the stranger, quickly sweeping down to the body in his lap. A frail boy held in his arms._

_Again, the masked stranger asked, "Do you wish to save him?"_

_"Yes!" He almost screamed his reply, as if hoping to drown out the gasping. A cough wracked the small body below him, making him arch forward more, trying with all his might to protect him from the chilling rain. He had to do something soon, or else the child would die. He might have been too far gone even then._

_When the man didn't say anything, he choked a sob, lowering his voice considerably. "Yes. I'll do anything. Anything. He's...everything to me. Please..."_

_"I understand." _

_The conscious boy looked up desperately, his eyes narrowed with determination and fury. What was he waiting for? _

_"I see you're devotion to him is remarkable. Very well, I will help you. But in return-"_

_"I don't care," he replied firmly, rising to his feet and lifting the smaller child with him. "Anything. Anything to help him."_

_He could not see it, but the mouth beneath the mask smiled. _

_"That is just what I wanted to hear."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As Axel came to, the first thing he noticed was damp. His face was pressed onto what appeared to be a cold stone floor, with a little leak of water coming in through the ceiling. There was a soft _drip drip _as the water fell, right by his head, and he adjusted with a groan, rolling away from the wall.

_Clank._

"What the-"

A tug of his left leg had done it. Sitting up slightly despite his lacking vision, Axel kicked his leg and heard the sound again. Tracing his fingers along the skin, blindly roaming downward, he came in contact with cool metal. A manacle.

Instantly, the boy began to panic, and he began trying to push himself up as if to stand. A sudden pain came from his head at that moment, making him slow slightly, before an even more prominent pain attacked his chest, winding him. With a choked gasp, he fell back on his ass and fought to catch his breath. A glance around the room did nothing to ease his growing fear.

The room was poorly lit; full of shadows cast by small torches on some of the walls. The torches were sparsely placed, and, as Axel quickly saw, they were outside of his compartment; a small, stone prison. Looking down, he saw that the manacle was locked to the nearest wall by a chain, about seven links, he counted.

How did he get there? For a moment, the memories didn't come, and the redhead was plagued by yet another moment of worry. Of course he was worried for himself, but there was also Roxas. What had happened to him?

Then it came back to him. The Festival of Fools. Esmerelda had fled, after stirring an uproar against Frollo. People had swarmed and run, spawning mass chaos and hysteria. And Roxas had walked blindly into the middle of it...

_'Idiot!' _He thought angrily, smacking a hand to his head in frustration. '_What the hell was he thinking?'_

A soft groan alerted him. There was someone else there. In vain hope, Axel turned about wildly, waiting for the sound again. And it came, albeit much softer than before, and as his eyes continued adjusting to the low light, the redhead caught sight of a hole on the wall to his immediate left. It was just big enough to fit his fist through. Was it intentional, or had it been worn away there?

Axel scrambled over to it, the chain clinking softly in the dirt behind him, and looked through the hole. With some effort and squinting, he could barely make out a huddled figure laying on the floor against the far wall, whimpering sfotly.

"Hello?"

The figure, who seemed to be moving slightly, froze. Even from where he was, Axel could see the person trembling violently.

"Can you hear me?" he asked gently, realizing that he had spoken too loudly before. In this place, which was most likely Frollo's beloved Palace of Justice, he didn't want to risk drawing the attention of any guards nearby. Nor did he wish to frighten his unlucky cellmate.

"Please, do you know where we are?"

"Aimé?"

The redhead suddenly recognized that voice, as the person rolled over slowly, pushing onto his knees and gazing at him through the wall.

"Aime!"

The blonde seemed to stumble frequently as he moved over to the wall in all haste, and soon he was reaching through with his small hand, grasping at his tightly. Aimé felt a great weight coming off his shoulders, knowing at least that his love was near and very much alive.

"Aimé! Oh, I was so worried!" His voice croaked a bit unnaturally, but he sounded genuinely relieved, though quite frantci. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"No," the redhead assured back, clasping that warm hand in his like a lifeline. "No, I'm fine. And you? You sound strange, Rene. Are you alright?"

There was a slight whimper, just barely audible for him to catch through the wall. "Y-Yes, I..."

"René, I know you're lying." He always lied so poorly, after all. "Tell me the truth. Have they hurt you?"

It only took a moment for the boy to break down, crying, his hand squeezing the older boy's before it pulled back, revealing a gaunt, tear-stained face through the hole in the wall. Aimé felt his heart sink at the pitiful sight.

"T-They brought me here, a-and took you away, t-to where I couldn't see! I was so scared!"

"Shhhhhhh," Aimé soothed, reaching through the now open hole and petting awkwardly at his hair, attempting to calm the boy. He wished they had been imprisoned together, so that he could comfort him properly, but he had to be thankful that at least they were alive. "It's alright now. I'm here, okay?"

René sniffled, leaning closer into the comforting hand. "This m-man came, and he grabbed me. He wanted to know where Esmerelda was. A-And the Court of Miracles."

The redhead frowned seriously. "Did you tell him?"

"No!" came the choked, horrified cry. "I w-would n-never-"

"Shhhhhh, alright!" the older boy hissed, a little harsher than he meant to. He hated upsetting René so much, but the truth of the matter was that they were both in serious danger.

Very quickly, his eyes darted around the dimly-lit cell and all surrounding areas, making sure no guards were coming.

Hot tears spilled out over pale, filthy cheeks as his hand moved lower.

"S-Sorry. I just, I-"

"Look, I know, alright? Just please be a little softer. We don't need them harassing us because we were too noisy," Aimé reasoned, letting a tired, irritated sigh slip. He realized he was still mad at the boy for getting them caught in the chaos. Had they just left when things got messy, they could have been perfectly safe. But of course, it was never that simple. René was always the one causing trouble for them because he didn't think things through. He was too naive.

"O-Okay." A chain on the other side of the wall clinked and Aimé heard a soft cry, barely stifled by a bit lip. He sighed, feeling conflicted in that moment.

"René?"

"...Y-Yes?"

"What's hurting you?"

A shaky gulp from the otherwise silent darkness, and shimmering blue eyes dared to appear through the hole and meet his again. "I fell. My ankle hurts. T-They wouldn't stop, not even w-when I..."

Aimé winced. "Is it red? Purple? Swollen?"

"What? What do you-"

"I mean," he whispered back, bordering on impatient once more, "what does your ankle look like now?"

The boy paused a minute. "I-It's red, I think. I-It feels big and warm when I touch it."

_'Great.' _Aimé thought bitterly, now cursing the boy for his clumsiness. That meant escape would be impossible. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm now. _'It was an accident. I shouldn't be mad at him. It won't help us.'_

But he had to think of something that would, and soon.

"Alright. After that, what happened?"

René gave him such a pitiful look that instantly melted his heart. It was hard to stay mad at him, even in this awful place. His love was frightened and hurting.

"They brought us to the Palace of Justice." Aime nodded. He'd assumed correct. "They took me to a room down the hall, and took you away. That man came in again and he...he threatened me. H-He had a whip... I don't remember when I passed out or for how long." Another soft whimper came, as René's voice began to break again. "Aimé, I'm scared. What are we going to do?"

Aimé sighed heavily. "I'll think of something..."

Just then, a heavy door somewhere else in the area opened with a loud creak, and the redhead whipped away from the wall like it was on fire.

The blonde yelped in fear and turned to him, eyes and voice desperately pleading. "Aimé!"

"Shhhhh! Don't speak to me! Keep your head down, Roxas!" he hissed, seeing how the boy began to tremble, even more violently this time. If the guards could torment them, get answers by using the other person, they were doomed. And so were the rest of the gypsies. He had promised Clopin to never betray...

The sound of a door being unlocked crushed Aimé's heart almost as much as the weak, desperate pleas. Heavy footsteps, and the sound of feet scuffing against stone. "No! No! _Aimé, aidez-moi! _Please don't let them take me! PLEASE!"

_'Fool!' _He growled, shutting his eyes and ears against the pain in his heart. _'Stop calling for me. You're making this harder. Please, René...'_

"NO! NO, STOP!" That was the last he heard before the first door slammed shut again, muffling the horrified cries. Aimé willed himself to calm down, fighting with all his might not to run to the bars and knock them down. He had to think. He had to find a way to get them out.

If he was lucky, the guards didn't know his name. He could only pray René wasn't looking his way when he'd been taken. The boy was so foolish, too caught up in his fear to understand...

But Aime's heart was breaking in two. One part of him blamed the blonde and his naivety for this whole situation. Now they could be doomed to die. He should have known better, should have thought more clearly. Anyone at their ages should understand the gravity of this situation. Perhaps René did understand, but he wasn't acting or thinking rationally. Just a little child in way over his head...

But he loved that child unconditionally, no matter what. How he wished that he could hold him, comfort him, be his shield against everything in this world that sought to do him harm. Aime wished that they had taken him, to go and be tortured in Rene's stead.

It wasn't long before he heard shrill screams of agony, seemingly coming through every wall, a sound that could not be blocked no matter how hard he shut his ears, or how tightly he clenched his eyes. The sound continued all through the night, and nearly drove the redhead to the brink of insanity.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, I lied. Well not really. I had planned to only make this a two-parter, but it's going to end up being longer than that. Not ten chapters, probably not even seven. My guess, as of now, is 5-6. Stay tuned, and for my sake, review. Reviews aren't the reason I write, but they're nice to have :)


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't know if You can hear me_  
><em>Or if You're even there<em>  
><em>I don't know if You would listen<em>  
><em>To a gypsie's prayer<em>  
><em>Yes, I know I'm just an outcast<em>  
><em>I shouldn't speak to you<em>  
><em>Still I see Your face and wonder...<em>  
><em>Were You once an outcast too?<em>

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He was lost in that infinite darkness, so lost...

All around was dark and deathly quiet. Not a soul stirred from any of the surrounding holding cells, and no guards had passed since they had come to take his beloved away...

Too trouble, too tired to sleep, Aimé managed to sit still in his cell. He knew that all he really could do was wait, and whether he wait there or run frantically to sit before the barred door of his cell, it made no difference in the end. He was trapped.

The boy seriously doubted his chain would stretch that far. That, and despite his inability to rest, he was very tired. Too tired to bother with moving; strained both physically and mentally. The guards must have beaten him something fierce upon capture, the pain in his chest and sides kept return, providing a mild ache that barely distracted him from his predicament. In fact, it reminded him. He was trapped quite thoroughly, and, if not careful, he could very well end up dead. For the moment, that depended on staying calm, thinking this through as best he could...

But the silence bothered him. First he had heard terrible screams that shattered his heart, and almost shattered his calm resolve. Now the utter silence was so unnerving he thought he should go mad. Aimé desperately wanted to know what had happened to his friend. Knowing how little he could bear the thought of anyone harming Rene - sweet, innocent, beautiful Rene- he would never forgive himself if the boy were killed.

What was happening to him now?

Aimé curled up against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest, his mind torn between simply waiting and concocting some sort of plan. The latter was much harder, especially because he knew nothing about the layout of the Palace of Justice. There was no dream of being rescued, he was sure; Clopin did look after his own, but once one was taken to the palace, that was the end of it.

No. Clopin would not risk losing more people. It was up to them to escape, or...or be left to their fate.

Could they make it, injured as they were? The only plausible hope seemed to be bargaining for their lives, and Aimé had misgivings about that. It would surely accomplish nothing. Frollo would settle for one thing: the location of the Court of Miracles. The boy was also pretty sure the judge's word would be as fair as his rulings. Especially for those who associated with the gypsies. Frollo believed them to be heathens, all deserving of death and an eternity of burning in hell.

On the other hand, perhaps it was worth a try. What did the two of them have to lose here?

But as time passed, Aimé thought about it more and more. They DID have something to lose. If they betrayed Clopin, they would have to leave Paris, for the man had given his word to protect them only if they gave their loyalty, and for Aimé, his services. Betraying him could mean death, and besides, they had friends to protect. They knew and loved Esmerelda, Jolly, most of the others, who lived in and depended on that place as a safe haven. Revealing the location of the court would surely mean death for all of them, and as he had thought before, Aimé felt that their own safety couldn't be guaranteed by Frollo's word alone. He couldn't live with their slaughter on his conscience.

It was so hopeless...

After what seemed hours of agony and thought, Aimé was startled by the creak of a heavy door opening. Light flooded into the hall from the room beyond, casting shadows into the cells and over the walls. The redhead was tempted to stand and race to the door, desperate and worried, but he suppressed the urge willfully and curled himself even tighter into a ball, keeping his ears open only. Perhaps if he pretended to sleep, they wouldn't bother him.

Foot steps echoed on stone, and there came a quiet dragging sound following it. A gruff voice spoke up.

"Could really use a full night's sleep for once, I'll tell you that much." Aimé heard a light yawn. "Ghastly night, wasn't it?"

"Too long," a second, somewhat quieter voice agreed. A key scraped in a lock in the cell beside his. "It's a gritty job, and the hours are terrible. And anyone with a weak stomach is bound to quit after a week."

"Some of the things I've seen in this line of work, they're awful. Tonight was quite an interesting piece of work, too. I'm surprised this one didn't crack. But then, I suppose you see new things every day."

More footsteps, and the clink of a chain. The second man let out a heavy sigh. "I almost feel sorry for them. They're only children. Don't even look like gypsies, do they? But what can you do?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." A brief pause. "I don't know about all this heathen business, but he probably did something to deserve it."

A gruff scoff. "No one deserves THAT kind of torture. I wouldn't even wish that on my bastard neighbor. Says a lot, you know."

"It don't matter much," the first man said sternly. "It's not our job to question Him. Judge Claude Frollo never takes actions on a whim, but on the word of the most high, Holy God in Heaven."

If the man wanted to argue, he made no sound to indicate it. The footsteps echoed again, as the men left the cell, and the brush of the key in the lock was heard again.

"Do we bring the o'er one?" the second man asked.

"Not tonight. His'll happen in the morning."

"I see." Then came another short pause, as the footsteps began to fade away. "Rations for em?"

The door began to close, the ribbon of light from the other room becoming smaller and smaller, as the wooden hinges creaked. "Not sure yet. We'll feed them tomorrow if we're given permission."

"We'd better soon, if we can. Blonde boy won't last much longer like this..." And with that, the door shut.

After a moment of silence, waiting to hear if anyone was coming back, Aimé sighed with relief. Suddenly the darkness and quiet, even the ache of his body, no longer mattered, and the redhead was making for the small hole in the wall. He reached it, and looked through, speaking to the still, huddled figure desperately.

"_René! Dieu merci! _Are you alright?"

No answer. There was no movement, no stir in the slightest, to answer him. He panicked.

"René!" He couldn't see in the dark, so he had no idea how bad the younger boy's wounds were. René had to be still alive, but...Aimé desperately hoped he wouldn't change. He prayed that the boy's heart not be hardened by their torture, nor that he would lose his hope or will to live.

"René, please answer me!" The blonde remained silent. "Wake up! Please wake up!"

A faint sound answered him this time, a whimper. As his eyes were readjusting, the redhead saw the body twitch and turn ever so slightly; so slight, that had he not been watching intently, he might not have caught it. The movements were tiny and slow, as if every attempt brought on a new world of pain.

Aimé waited patiently, his heart tearing apart at the soft whines. How he wished he could be closer to René, to help him, hold him. If only this vile wall weren't between them, he would not have spared a thought. He would have just run to him.

The voice that finally spoke was raw, hoarse from sobbing and screaming. The weak tremor in it stabbed a pang of guilt through the older boy's heart.

"It...It h-hurts..."

The redhead pressed closer, as close as he could, urging, "Where, René? Where does it hurt?"

The boy swallowed shakily, whispering, "E-Everywhere..."

Aimé couldn't help what came next. Without his permission, a thousand words began spilling from his mouth. This time, there were no questions, because he knew. He knew from the guards that the boy hadn't betrayed the gypsies. And even if he didn't know, the redhead couldn't bring himself to hate him. Now, he only wanted to soothe and love. René was so precious to him.

So he let the words dribble, though at times they sounded weak or stupid. They were all assurances, that everything would be alright, that he was there beside him, even though he couldn't be. That somehow, they'd find a way out of this. When René managed to crawl closer to the wall, the redhead reached his hand inside and grasped his quivering hand as he spoke.

And René broke down and sobbed more, even to the point of almost losing his voice completely. He would not speak of the tortures he had undergone, and Aimé refused to force them out of him. He wanted the blonde to forget them, to take him away from the awful place forever...

Aimé touched his face and cooed softly, trying to hide his uneasiness even as he felt an unnaturally warm flush to the skin. The constant stress was really hurting René. If he got sick, then...Aimé had no idea what he would do. He was at the end of his rope, and no amount of bravery or assurances could last them forever in there...

"M' tired..." the blonde murmured weakly. Aimé could feel his eyelids flutter closed, as his fingers traced over that delicate face, soothing tenderly. He let out a soft, shaky sigh.

"Rest, _mon amour. _I will stay here with you." The boy pulled back and kissed his palm, before pressing it to the blonde's cheek. It was something he used to do, once in a while when they were children. It was the only thing he could do, for now.

The younger boy hummed, slumping a little against the wall as his eyes closed. The older boy swore he saw a small smile on his battered face. "Promise?"

Aimé managed a weak smile back. "Promise."

"A-All night?"

"All night."

With that, the two finally found sleep. And in sleep, they each wandered far from their dank, dark cells, back into the sunshine. Not just the colorful streets of Paris, but beyond, anywhere they sought to go. They escaped to a place without pain or sorrow, where the hills were green always, and the people kind and caring. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the boys both dreamed of watching it together. If only for a little while, life was waiting before them again, mysterious but still so wonderful and bright.

If only the night. one dream, could last...


	4. Chapter 4

_Aimé was forced to wait outside, sitting in a strange, dark room with many scattered boxes for chairs. A woman with a lazy eye sat near him, fixing the bangles and other jewelry that adorned her, and beside him sat a man in a bright colored bandana, who looked almost too old to be still wandering the streets. He assured the boy again and again that things would be fine, but even then, the redhead waited nervously. He couldn't bring himself to calm until he knew everything would be fine for sure. Not a minute before..._

_It was even strange, though, to think these were the same people he had met not an hour ago. Upon first entering the Court of Miracles, he had felt the stares that followed him; cold, distrustful. He knew, of course, that gypsies lived hard lives and many of the denizens of Paris wanted as little to do with them as possible. They hated them, to the point that even women and children were singled out and persecuted._

_They were outsiders like him. He and René had both struggled to survive up to this point, but they would not be welcome in their midst until they had sworn loyalty. _Aimé was almost surprised that Clopin had brought them there so soon, despite neither of them having formally agreed anything yet.__

_It felt strange to be outsiders among outsiders._

_To pass the time, he spoke with the man next to him, now and then reaching up to touch the strangely itchy marks now burned onto his cheeks. He'd been branded very quickly, and was well assured that _René would be too, once he was healthy again. It was just as well._ _Aimé felt a new sense of heaviness now, like nothing he had felt before, other than perhaps the responsibility he felt in looking after his friend. This heaviness wasn't pleasant at all, but he couldn't go back now. He'd made the right choice, and assured himself of that constantly. Any choice was worth it, when it meant he could properly care for _René..._____

_Touching the marks again, he sighed. The pain had been so intense. Clopin told him that every gypsy in his troupe bore some sort of mark, somewhere on their body. He blushed a little, remembering how the man had told him, completely seriously, where his own mark was. That seemed almost cruel to do to someone. Branding by itself was painful, but somewhere sensitive like...like THAT? Why would he do that to himself, the boy wondered? Couldn't he just make a rule that said, as leader, he didn't need to be marked?_

_____Clopin had laughed at him when he told him that exposing the mark was sometimes necessary to recognize "family." He'd turned almost as red as his hair at that.__ _Aimé_ begged that _____René not receive his mark there, which he was again assured would not happen, much to his relief. Just the thought was enough to give him a fierce headache...____________

____________Now that he was being left mostly alone with his thoughts, however, he couldn't really laugh at the situation properly. It was too recent, too embarrassing, and he was too tense regardless. Assurances really meant nothing to him. Only seeing the results with his own eyes would calm _Aimé's heart._____________

_A woman would come by now and again, carrying water and small bundles of cloth. She scurried back and forth, vanishing into that room behind the curtain, and would then reemerge. Her eyes were cool and grave, and that made him even more on edge._

_Trying to divert himself, he began to think about his new name. 'Axel...'_

_That WAS a strange thought. He was no longer just _Aimé now, but also Axel. It was a strange practice. The man beside him said that he had been allowed to keep his old name, that few gypsies were renamed by Clopin. __Aimé was no strange name where he had lived. The boy eventually concluded that there must be more to it. A constant reminder of his contract, his loyalty. He was sure he would speak to Clopin later, so he could know for sure. But for now...____

_Axel. It sounded a little off when spoken in his language. Where was it from, he wondered? What did it mean?_

_His thoughts drifted back once again to his friend. He hadn't seen anyone go in there in a long time, and neither Clopin nor the healer had emerged. That had to be a favorable sign, he reasoned; no one would linger so long over the dead. Not even the Catholic did that..._

_If he...survived this night, Rene's name would be Roxas now. Aime smiled a little shakily. It was odd, but he liked it. Far more than he liked his own name._

_His eye caught a brief flash of color, and __Aimé looked up, alert, as Clopin pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, a large, burly-looking man behind him. In an instant, the redhead was on his feet, rushing to meet them.___

_"Clopin, h-how is he?"_

_The larger man shook his head and spat, but the gypsy leader offered a surprisingly gentle smile._

_"His fever is breaking. It should be safe for him to eat within an hour." He looked back at the healer, who nodded in agreement._

_Aimé felt his heart leap, any turmoil or other thoughts vanishing quicker than mist. "Je vous remercie beaucoup! Bless you! May I see him?"_

_"He's sleeping now. Just be careful not to disturb him."_

_"I will. Thank you again." He could never thank Clopin enough for this. Aime made for the door, but stopped when Clopin placed a quick hand on his shoulder._

_"See to him now. Set your mind at ease, my brother, but come to me soon afterward. There are important matters to attend to."_

_Aimé caught his serious tone and nodded, but at the moment, he was so relieved that he didn't care._

_He pushed through the curtain and was met with a dark room, illuminated only by a small lantern by the bedside. To his surprise, there was a woman there; a young women with dark skin and long, thick ebony hair. She was seated at the head of the bed, _____lifting the bed covers up to Rene's chin. She looked up as the redhead entered, and her gaze was warm and welcoming.______

_"You must be Axel. Pardon my intrusion. My name is Esmerelda."_

_"Hello," he offered back, still a bit confused. He scratched his head. "I...uh, wasn't expecting anyone else to be here."_

_"I came in a little while ago. I haven't had much to do lately, so I came by to speak to Clopin, and he asked me to help take care of him." She made to stand. "Would you like a moment alone?"_

______"No, that's alright. I can't thank you enough for your help." ___Aimé closed the gap and came to stand beside the bed, looking down at his friend. He did look much better now that he was warm and dry._________

_______________René had been sick a few times before this, but never had he seen it get this bad. Instinctively, he knew, and Clopin and his attendants' eyes ________________affirmed his fear. Death had been looming like a growing shadow, waiting to swallow up the only light Aime had in his life._

_______________They couldn't continue living as they had. Rene was really too delicate for life on the streets____________________________________.___________________________________________________

________________________He sighed heavily, and Esmerelda smiled, patting a space beside her on _______________the bed. He took it gratefully, watching his friend's chest rise and fall, a bit more naturally now. Reaching out, the redhead could feel _______________René's light breath on his palm. Weak, but not as weak as before. The weight in Aime's chest was already lessening. Had he not cried so much before, he might have now out of sheer relief and gladness.______________________________________________________

______________________________________________________He wasn't paying her much mind, but Esmerelda watched him with a smile, as he ran his fingers through soft blonde hair_______________. _________Aimé heard Rene hum a little in his sleep and smiled.______________________________________________________________________________

_"You two are really close, aren't you?"_

_Aimé looked up, a little surprised by the question. He shrugged. "We've been living together for a while. I guess...I've grown attached to him." He chuckled then. "Can't remember when that happened."_

_"That's good, though. You can stick together. It can be pretty tough in this city." She looked at him seriously then. "It's good to rely on one another, but you must be careful. I'm sure you know that as well as anyone here."_

_Aimé nodded back. "We both had some...issues with our families. I didn't have anywhere to go, and neither did he. The streets are hard and dangerous, but we managed. At least, until now._

_But now we can live here, right?"_

_Esmerelda nodded, though she looked a little sad. "Yes. We take care of our own here. But it comes with a price."_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

When he awoke, Aimé found himself still slumped against the hard wall. He made a mental note not to sleep like that again, using the pain in his shoulder and side as a reinforcer.

Looking around, momentarily alarmed by the darkness and quiet, he couldn't remember. What was this place? Then he heard soft snoring coming from nearby, and noticed a hole in the wall. That brought everything back, a little slowly at first. But he remembered. He remembered being hit, waking up in the cold, dark cell at the Palace of Justice, and...

'René...'

He bent, wincing as his spine cricked a little, and looked into the hole. He could see that the other boy was lying against the wall as well, though he couldn't see his face. He heard the raspy breathing that accompanied the snores, and sighed a little. He was still there, and most importantly, alive.

They both had slept pressed to the wall all night. René had been tortured...

Aimé pulled back and looked out through the bars of his cell. It was probably morning, guessing from how long he had slept. The prison looked different now, lighter; a single torch had been fastened to the wall, and a worthy flame burned, shining light from it to illuminate the area more. It was probably done for the sake of the guards, but still Aimé was grateful. It was a lot easier to be afraid in the dark...

Looking back at the hole, the redhead then slowly reached his hand inside and felt for his friend, hoping to wake him. Knowing that he was injured and had even shown signs of sickness that night, it probably wasn't doing him a lot of good, sleeping here. It was cold, and neither of them had had food or water in a while. Aimé's lips were dry and cracked, his throat unbelievably parched.

Though he felt cruel for doing it, he needed to wake the younger boy. They needed to talk about what to do.

His fingers brushed warm, firm skin, and he assumed he had found René's nose. Letting the hand move up a bit, he felt the boy's forehead, hissing a little at the heat of it. The fever was weak, but it could grow worse, especially given their situation. If René got that sick again...

He shuddered to think.

They must not appear too close. It would be unavoidable if René's health didn't improve, but for now, the greatest danger to both of them was each other. The interrogators could easily manipulate Aime into giving them the information. And if they hurt Rene again...

Did the guards know already? René had cried out for him that night. That alone could have sealed their fate. But most condemning was the very fact that they were both gypsies. Gypsies from the same troupe, the same "family." Was anyone here aware of that? Did Frollo care enough to know?

The older boy shook his head firmly, banishing the thought. Worrying over things he didn't know would not help. But that did leave him a hard choice: reveal their "relationship", or not? Neither option looked beneficial to them.

Moving his hand again, he tried, awkwardly, to wake his friend. It took several tries before he began to hear shifting against the wall, and drew back his hand.

"René?" he whispered. A deep cough echoed in the dank, silent rooms.

"I'm awake." It killed him inside, how raw that sweet voice had become. Whatever they had done to René, the pain and fear were evident through his voice. "Do you...y-you know what day it is, Aime?"

Aimé shook his head, before realizing his friend couldn't see it.

"I'm not sure."

There was more shifting, the clank of a chain, and a whimper. Aimé tried to think of something else he could say. He wanted to say something encouraging, or just anything, anything that might make their situation seem less dark. He couldn't find the words, and any plans he'd been thinking of went out of his mind.

"I'm so sorry..."

The redhead blinked, and after a short pause, very delicately asked, "What for?"

A shaky gulp answered him, followed by a broken sob. "F-For everything. I got us into this. I know you needed me to be calm. I knew it, but I...I just couldn't."

Aimé only shook his head.

"I understand why. You were scared, and I wasn't there to help. I'm the one who should be sorry." Even if this was Rene's fault, he hadn't meant any harm. Aime felt ashamed of himself for thinking such bitter, angry things, for letting the boy stew in his fear alone, and be tortured. Reminded of that poor, innocent little boy he had saved all those years ago, the redhead never wanted his lover to look that lost and terrified ever again. But he'd failed.

"But it wasn't your fault!" René urged, a little louder this time. Not enough to alert anyone, thankfully."You were unconscious. I shouldn't have started panicking like that. No matter what happened. I-I...I'm sorry." His voice faded away then, giving in to muffled sobs.

The redhead heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's nobody's fault. Blaming is not going to help us get out."

"You're right. I'm just being stupid..."

"Stop it. Don't talk like that." Aimé reached through the hole again and grasped around for the boy's hand. It slid into his easily, fingers weaving together and immediately squeezing a comforting pressure. "We'll find a way, René. No matter what, we'll survive. We always have."

Another sigh. "I know."

The older boy smiled a little. "_Je t'aime_."

There was another short pause, and a little sniffle.

"I love you too. So much..."

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

For a while they waited. There in the dark, they waited to see who would come next, and for what. The guards had mentioned returning for Aimé come morning, but they still had yet to show. There had been some mention of food, but that had yet to come as well. Both boys' stomachs began to growl incessantly. They couldn't help it, and it was just about the only way they could tell that time had passed.

"How are you holding up?" Aimé asked at one point, his fingers lazily tracing along the cracks in the wall.

"I'm tired and hungry, but that's nothing new."

René seemed to be trying to be more guarded about his pains now; there was a lot less crying from his end of the room. It was as though he was trying to make up for his earlier behavior, and Aimé felt more endeared to him for it.

Too bad nothing could stop him from worrying. That decision had been sealed for a long time. He would always be doomed to worry for the other boy.

"How is your ankle?"

"It hurts sometimes, but I can manage."

The redhead hummed his acknowledgement, but still he frowned. He felt like he had no energy. He couldn't bring himself to move from the wall, wanting to be as close to his love as he possibly could. His muscles ached from disuse, but without food and comfortable sleep, he didn't want to move them much anyway. The blonde had to be feeling the same. Maybe worse, considering how beaten he sounded that night.

"What are we supposed to do?" the younger boy moaned softly, his voice breaking just barely with frustration. "Just sit here and wait to die?"

"Maybe they're trying to break us," he offered, rather unhelpfully. 'Or they could be preparing some new hell to set on us,' which he didn't dare to speak aloud. It just sounded too morbid, and entirely too plausible.

The younger boy gave a frustrated whine. "I hate it here! I want to go home!"

"You think I don't? This isn't a game, René."

"I know! I d-didn't mean it like that!"

Aimé knew what he was trying to say. He was miserable. The sickness was probably just making it worse.

"Maybe...we should tell stories. Something to take our minds off of it."

René chuckled humorlessly. "I don't know any good ones." He groaned at something Aimé couldn't see, and the older boy sat up a bit, looking into the hole worriedly.

"Are you alright?"

"I wouldn't use that exact word, no," he replied, pain in his voice. "I take back what I said. I hope they never come back."

Aime hesitated.

"René, you-"

The door to the dungeons was unlatched, opening with a loud groan of rotting wood. The two abruptly froze as the footsteps drew closer, and the redhead scrambled away from the wall, as he frantically thought.

'What should I do?' Were they here for him already?...He could fight them, take the keys, escape...

His wild thoughts were interrupted as the voices of two men drew closer.

"Grab the long-haired one this time. His Lordship seems to think he'll be more useful."

Aimé's heart sped up as the two reached his cell, unlocking the door. From the dim light, he could see one was a bit larger than the other, but both were big men; broad-shouldered and tall.

"Alright, you," the second man said, entering the small space with a pair of keys in hand. "No tricks now. We both have orders. You try anything with me, and he won't hesitate to kill you." He indicated the man behind him with his thumb.

Aimé nodded weakly, and allowed himself to be chained by the wrists now. It made sense to take such precautions; he was taller and stronger than René, so they saw him as more of a threat. At least they weren't going to be dragging him by the ears.

He was quickly pulled to his feet and led out. On the way, he caught a glimpse of René in his cell; pressed to the wall, cowering as he watched the guards. In the sudden light, even little as it was, Aimé then saw the long cuts, the deep, dark bruises that marred the pale skin of his arms, legs, neck, face. The drying blood everywhere...

But the eyes were the worst. Still intact, but there was terror in them, worse than ever he had seen before. Haggard, frightened eyes met his, and it was like looking into the eyes of a wild animal, now beaten and cowed.

Broken.

'My God...' he thought, feeling tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 'Rene, what have they done to you?'

"Come on, you." He was yanked out the door before he could even speak, and it slammed shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

I was so glad to hear KH 3DS would include Hunchback of Notre Dome. Who called it? XD

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><p><em>I ask for nothing<em>  
><em>I can get by<em>  
><em>But I know so many<em>  
><em>Less lucky than I<em>  
><em>Please help my people<em>  
><em>The poor and downtrod<em>  
><em>I thought we all were<em>  
><em>The children of God<em>

_. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . . . . . . . _. . .________________

The church would often say that Hell is a burning inferno of misery and despair. A vast plane that stretches into eternity, chorused by anguished screams and painted with the thousands of toiling tortured souls.

_Aime_ had heard these things many times before, and yet he had never imagined that such a place could exist in life.

As he passed through the Palace of Justice, these were all around him, almost mocking. It began to blur together after a short time, leaving no room to decide where one chamber ended and another began. He shuddered at the sound of whips meeting flesh, screaming torn from the throats of men and women. His stomach churned as he passed on cell, only to see a small girl being flogged by two soldiers simultaneously.

Suddenly his dark, quiet cell didn't seem so bad.

He felt guilty for his treatment so far. How many of these things had _Rene _seen or felt while he was unconscious?

A door was opened down the far hall, bathing him and the throng of guards around him in red light. _Aime _almost tripped as the man behind him gave a good shove, one of the others jerking his arm harshly at the same time. Somehow he managed to keep his feet and follow the others at a brisk pace. Once through the door, the boy saw the walls were decorated by many torches. On the far wall was a large cross, bearing a messiah crowned with black thorns.

Beneath this cross stood a dark man bowed in prayer, old and withered by time.

Judge Claude Frollo.

"Sir, we have brought the prisoner you requested."

The Judge slowly straightened and turned to meet them, his cruel sneer lifting into a smile as he registered _Aime._

"Ah, good." Rubbing his hands, the old man stepped closer. He appeared to be sizing the boy up, walking around him with a thoughtful glance. "Such an interesting heathen I've found. Welcome to my humble home."

The redhead looked away, disgusted.

"I trust your stay has been comfortable." When he continued to get no response, Frollo raised his head indignantly, though his expression barely faltered. "They tell me your name is Axel. Where did you come by it? Certainly it is not French or Latin?"

A guard slapped him, and _Aime_ unwillingly relaxed his jaw. "It is the name given to me by my brothers and sisters. Why or where it came from, I do not know."

"I see," Frollo replied with half-interest. His smile was widening, though, and the boy didn't like it one bit. "And what is your real name?"

Biting back every harsh word he could think off, _Aime _kept himself from spitting back. "That has been long forgotten. I owe no allegiance to my name. My family disowned me long ago, and I have done the same." That was true enough.

"Answer the lord's question!" one of the soldiers barked, causing the young man to flinch back slightly. But he maintained the fiery look in his eyes, squaring his shoulders firmly even as he was jerked. The Judge raised a hand, stopping the other man before he struck.

"Now, now. No need to be so cold. This one is obviously more intelligent than the others." He smirked at _Aime. _"I do not care whether or not you give me your name. What I want is the Court of Miracles, and for that, alone, will I use all in my power to loosen your tongue."

The redhead scoffed. "By all means. Unleash holy hell upon me. Nothing you can do or say will make a difference."

"Oh?" With a snap of his fingers, one of the men produced a long, thick whip. "What if I were to hang you by your thumbs from the ceiling and give you one hundred lashes?"

Paling a bit, _Aime _held his ground. "I would bear it."

"And if I should scald your back with molten fire?"

Gritting his teeth, he reiterated. "I would bear it."

"If I bind your limbs to horses and rip you apart?"

This time, he gave no verbal answer. Just a gaze, emerald eyes burning with resolve.

Frollo scratched his chin in mock thought, humming. "Yes. Perhaps none of these things would work. I shall have to think of something else. Something better...Ah, but what if I were to bring your companion in here?"

Color drained from his face, as he struggled not show emotion.

"Yes, that other boy. What was his name? _Rene, _I believe." The redhead's eyes widened against his will, earning a dry laugh from Frollo. "Yes, I like that one. He bore his punishment so well before, yet I think he would not be able to withstand another. What do you think, _Aime?"_

They had heard him. Oh, _Rene _and all his foolishness! This was the death of them, here and now, the boy could see it in those cold eyes.

As he sucked in a breath, _Aime _saw the Judge shake his head. "It's a pity to harm one so young, but it is what you heathens have wrought upon yourselves. To turn from your noble paths, families of honest blood, to join the likes of them is disgraceful."

If only he know about their homosexuality as well...

"Please..." He had to speak. Even if it undid everything he loved and wanted to protect in his life, even if this man had no mercy in his soul, he had to do something now. For his friend, his lover. Nothing in the world mattered more than _Rene. _"I will tell you what you want. Please, spare him this agony."

A grey eyebrow raised. "Oh? You think to give me what I want, that you can spare another pitiful sinner? How could I have the power to spare him? The Almighty will surely condemn you both in death; even so, you wish to live this life so deluded?"

"Please, _Benevolent seigneur._ I will give you the gypsies, Esmeralda, the world, if you desire it. I will give you everything I can. But you must not hurt him," he begged. Falling to his knees, _Aime _moved only as far as the chains would allow. He didn't dare clasp those robes, but lowered to the ground and bowed. A sinner in his proper place. "I beseech you. I will bear all of your torments and more, tell you anything you wish. Please..."

He did not see the pleased look in Frollo's eye.

"Very well."

Before any more was said, a soldier tapped at the door. The Judge's lips curled into a momentary snarl.

"What is it, Captain?"

_Aime _looked up to see a man with short, blonde hair and a troubled look.

"Sir, we've received word that the gypsy girl has been spotted by the mill. We await your orders."

Frollo relaxed. He ran a hand over his face, looking for one moment the tired old man he really was. Pushing back his cap, he spoke low. "Gather your men. I will join you on my horse."

"Sir." The man bowed, sparing only the briefest of glances at the unusual gypsy on the floor. He then hastily made his way out, and Frollo sighed.

"Another wild chase, I presume. But we cannot rest until she is found." Straightening himself, he gave a cruel smirk to one of the soldiers towering over _Aime. _"We shall have to continue this later. In my absence, teach this heathen a little lesson about loyalty."

The boy was harshly pulled to his feet, growling.

"Not too rough, now. Keep his mouth in good working order." Then, as quickly as _Aime _himself had been brought in, Frollo left in a flurry of dark robes. Leaving a very confused, but somewhat relieved prisoner behind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A chill passed through him where he lay on the cold, stone floor, and he curled as far in on himself as he sore, tired body would allow.

Rene had no idea how long it had been. Every time he tried to focus, he only gave himself more of a headache. It must have been some time, because he didn't remember feeling this awful when he had first seen his lover taken away.

But he was becoming more and more worried now. He wanted to rise up and pace the extent of his prison, see if he could get a better look. A part of him wished he could find a weakness in the bars, or dig his way out through a soft spot in the floor. But he felt too weak to even stand, let alone move and do these things.

Not that he could have done much anyway. He was always too small, too weak to do anything. Pathetic.

He couldn't even fight as they'd whipped him, cut him, and nearly drowned him. The judge...

Laying on his side, the blonde sighed a shaky breath and closed his eyes, willing away the memories and praying as he had never prayed before.

_'Aime...Come back to me safely, please...'_

Suddenly, the heavy door opened again. Rene forced his tired eyes open and tried to lift his head to see. Had they come back for him now too?

"It's okay to put them together?" one voice asked gruffly.

A deeper voice replied. "The Judge's orders. He also said we don't have to chain this one. Doesn't look like much of a threat to me."

"I suppose." the first man said. The sound of a cell door being unlocked. _His _cell. Surely, they weren't..."I still don't like it."

A heavy thud against the floor came then, followed by a groan. Rene wanted to get up and see, but even if he could, he was wary of the guards. Some of them really seemed like monsters.

He clenched his eyes shut and pretended to sleep, though his quivering might have given him away if they looked hard enough.

The door of the cell slammed shut, thankfully, and keys scrapped back into the lock.

"I suppose we should feed them now," the first man said. A gruff growl answered him.

"Send Leon to do it. I want a break." With that, the men left, and the boy heard another groan from his new cellmate.

"R-Rene_?"_ the voice croaked. The little blonde felt tears in his eyes, but held them back. As he opened his eyes again, he heard shuffling scraps across the floor, and he slowly turned over, only to fall gently into familiar arms.

"I didn't...didn't want to think you were dead." He hated how hoarse and weak he sounded. The face he looked into was thin, gaunt, and very bruised, probably like his own, but Rene didn't care. He could have wept with joy.

Aime was not dead, nor was he broken.

Somehow, they were both alright.

"Never," Aime whispered back, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

For a moment, they lay together in silence peacefully. Being able to hold one another again, without judging, scornful eyes, was one of the few, if only, blessings they had in this miserable place. Rene felt selfish, but he loved being held and kissed, after all that had happened. He wished he could be stronger, like Aime, but he was born a coward. A spoiled, weak little coward that would never amount to anything more than a nuisance to everyone around him.

Maybe...death wouldn't be so horrible after all.

A hand touched his face gently, and he forgot those thoughts immediately. It felt so nice.

His lover frowned deeply. "Your fever..."

"I will be fine," he urged, as his hazy eyes scoped the damage. A black eye, bruises over Aime_'s _face and neck, his hair cut shorter, ragged looking. "What about you?"

A humorless chuckle escaped the redhead. "How can you think of me at a time like this? Your state is far sadder than mine, Rene." Aimepulled the boy into his arms, cradling him lovingly._ "_I will be fine, as long as we are together."

The blonde hummed back, unable to think of anything else. Their circumstances were no better or worse, but it helped that now they could at least be together.

"_Je t'aime__._"

The other boy tightened his hold, gazing out beyond their cell with eyes full of uncertainty. Not for himself, but for everything he ever loved in this twisted city. For the umpteenth time since they arrived, he wondered what would become of them now.

"_Je t'aime__, __mon chéri._"


	6. Chapter 6

One more chapter, then maybe an epilogue. It doesn't seem like much has really happened in this story, but it spent a lot of time in the dark, so to speak. It doesn't feel historically accurate in the least, but then, I am basing it off the disney movie, which says a lot. It was still a dark movie.

I think I intended it as an angstmance while kind of exploring the stress on the human mind under this kind of pressure. I dunno. But I tried to leave out the gory details ( I don't want to write it and anyway I'd have to up the rating) and just focus on the characters reflecting on it.

* * *

><p><em>Leaving the healing tent, the redhead made his way through the gypsies' underground city. Clopin's tent was not difficult to find; it bore his colors, and was the tallest in the area. Opening the flap, he peered inside, seeing the gypsy seated on a few cushions on the floor, speaking to a young man on his right.<em>

_"Ah, Axel. I was expecting you much later." With a smile, he waved off the other man, who rose and left the tent quietly. Axel starred after him a moment._

_"I just wanted to check for myself." There wasn't much point lingering afterward. Clopin nodded, motioning him in._

_"Fair enough. I wished to discuss the terms with you, and Roxas once he is well enough."_

_"I understand...But I wonder, is there room for negotiation on these terms?"_

_"It depends on the nature. To which do you refer?"_

_With a hardened look, Axel sat down at his level. "Roxas will never be forced to steal. And if I must, he will never know."_

_The man raised an eyebrow at him. "We will need to renegotiate some of your terms. I cannot give you something for nothing."_

_The redhead nodded. He was aware by now. This life would hard; he knew that the moment he had followed this man here. But to go back on his word would mean death for him and the person who mattered most to him. He would do whatever to protect him, at any cost._

_"Normally, the men are given the less savory work. It is a hard life, but it must be done. This city is not kind to ones like us." It would be wonderful if no one had to resort to stealing or violence, but prejudice was rampant and honest work was hard to find. As they spoke, Axel learned that women could do many things; they could weave, grow food, play music, or dance. Those few things were honest, but they paid very little in the long run. All that remained was shady dealings and the annual festival of fools._

_"I understand. I only ask that Roxas not be counted among that." He was honest and innocent, a very rare quality for a street rat. But Axel wanted him that way for as long as possible. Roxas deserved to smile everyday._

_Looking over the document, Clopin hummed lightly. "Shall we do that now, while there is time? I'm sure you are weary, and wish to return to your...friend..."_

_There was a slight uneasiness in his tone there, but the redhead couldn't blame him. He had made the relationship clear to Clopin only, but the underworld of Paris would find out soon enough. Hopefully after they had made friends, and people would be less on edge about it._

_"Yes. I'm grateful for your time."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It seemed hours before any of the guards returned.

The door unlocked with a harsh sound, a thick growl from the shadowy figure standing there. "Food."

Aime scrambled forward awkwardly as the man slid in two bowls, one with water and the other with some gray goop that he could only assume was the food, and a small piece of bread. He caught the bowl of water before half of it spilled, glaring up at the man.

"There are two of us here. Two people, two bowls each."

The guard sneered at him. "You'll take it and be grateful! Next time you might not even get that!" With that, he slammed the door loudly, locked it, and stalked away.

The redhead picked up the bowl of food, surprised that none of it had spilled. Taking some on his finger, he slipped the food into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. It was foul stuff, but he was relieved to find it wasn't poison. The goop was thick at least. It would have to do for now.

It took a few trips to get the bowls over to the wall; he had to be especially careful with the water. Every drop was precious, and as keeping from losing any became more and more difficult. Aime cursed his limp profoundly the whole way.

When he finished, he went to the damp spot on the floor, tore a piece of his shirt, and dabbed it all up. Coming back to Rene's side, he placed the cloth on his forehead. The water wasn't as cool as he would have liked, but it would have to do.

Gently waking the boy, he propped him up against his own chest, using the wall for his support. He then struggled to carefully lift the water bowl at this new angle, bringing it to Rene's lips.

"Drink."

The boy turned slowly to glance back at him. "But-"

"I'll be fine." He was sure his smile looked awful, considering the state of his face. But it couldn't be helped. At least for now, his lover needed the water more. "Drink, Rene. You need it."

There wasn't nearly enough even for one person, but the boy drank deeply, sighing when he was finished.

Next, Aime took the bread. It was hard, so he took pains to break it, even chewing it himself to make it soft and yielding. It took some time, making his jaw ache and his hands tremble slightly as he repeated the process again and again, but he attended to it patiently. Rene responded slowly, weakly, as the redhead spoke to him, his tone soothing and warm.

They were false assurances, but Aime felt that they did some good. In the wasting heat of his fever, the blonde was like a child that needed comfort, and he gave it whole-heartedly. By the time the bowls were empty and all the food gone, the older boy felt his own stomach growling, tightening painfully in hunger. He had spared nothing for himself at all.

"Aime, I'm still thirsty..."

"I know, _mon amour_." Aime cradled him in his arms, brushing back blonde strands of hair from his sweaty face. He dabbed the now warm cloth around his face, careful as he brushed over old cuts and bruises. "I know, but there is no more."

Rene squirmed a little in his arms, coughing. "C-Can I please have some more water?"

The redhead's heart clenched, and he held his lover tighter. "Rene, there is no more. I just told you."

"Why? A-Are you angry at me? Aime..." Hazy eyes began to fill with tears.

"No. No, my love. Please understand. There is no more water." His heart broke hearing those words, seeing that pitiful look upon Rene's face at the denial. The redhead bent to kiss the tears away, straining to keep his own from spilling over. He needed him to understand. "I could never be angry with you, Rene. Believe me. Please."

"Aime..." He seemed to understand now, but Aime saw his hand moving, straining to grab the now empty bowl that lay only a short distance away.

"Rest, my love. You're not thinking clearly." He tried to speak calmly, barely keeping himself together now. Rene was not this delirious before. It frightened him how different he seemed. Touching his forehead gently, he repressed a hiss. The fever was trying to work the bad stuff out of his body, but the temperature was too high. Any higher and he could be in serious danger.

It pained the older boy, how powerless he was to help.

As he gently laid the boy down, he weakly flopped himself over him. The cell was growing colder, perhaps signaling that night was not far off. Together, he hoped they could stay warm, and Rene's body was already so warm that it staved off the chill in his bones. "I will stay with you." Hopefully in sleep, he could forget his growing hunger, and the worry he faced knowing that his lover's health was deteriorating.

"When we wake up, w-will there be water?"

The redhead looked down at him, struggling not to speak the doubt in his mind. _  
><em>

"I...Yes, Rene. Now sleep." He pressed a gently kiss to his forehead before snuggling up beside him. The older boy had no idea what he was doing, or if he was doing it right. He just hoped that things would look better when they awoke, and that he could find subtable answers for both of them.

_'I would bring you an ocean's worth of water, if only we were free...'_

If he dreamed, Aime didn't remember...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The cycle continued on for an immeasurable amount of time. Wake, eat if they could, then sleep again. The sleep never lasted long, but Aime followed the cycle and tried to make the most of his time, whether asleep or awake.

Neither of them were called upon again, which both boys were very thankful for. Some of their wounds were slowly healing, and the pain became easier to ignore. Having learned the hard way, the older boy split the food and water more evenly now.

Rene would alternate between wakings, sometimes cooler and lucid, other times the fever would spike and he would wake worried and confused. The redhead did his best to care for him, but it only seemed to continue the cycle, the fever never completely breaking. Whether lucid or not, Rene was so weak he needed help with everything. Finding himself feeling more and more alone at times, Aime would sit and think, mostly about the looming shadow of death hanging over them. When would Frollo return?

The heavy slam of a door awoke him next. Aime bolted up at the sounds of shouting and scuffling in the distant, a dry yelp escaping from his own throat.

How long had it been now?

It took only a moment for his stomach to growl, and the boy clutched it, wincing. Too long. He didn't have the energy to go far, so he sat still and waited, listening as the voices and scuffling grew louder.

Another door opened, casting a yellow light over the room, as countless soldiers poured in. At first, Aime was alarmed, thinking they had come for them, until he saw the men behind them, dragged and chained like dogs. All of the gypsies in ruffled, colored clothes. All of them shouting curses and struggling, even as they were thrown and beaten and pulled along.

_"Lâchez-moi, vous, fils de pute!"_

_"Auto-pensants salauds!"_

Some of the prisoners that came in next were women and children, sobbing and clinging to each other, forced in to dark, dingy cells. It was then Aime realized that the dungeon they were in was much larger than he'd thought before. It was always dark, not much use for looking around, especially when escape was impossible. But now...

The hall was vast and lined with small cells. The gypsies were searched and shoved into these in groups, chained to the wall and locked away, as the guards moved on to the next group. It took some time before they managed to get everybody in; the mass of prisoners was large and unruly. But as they finished, Aime scrambled to the door of the cell, calling to them as they passed. The last two noticed him, and stopped by his cell.

"Please, will there be more food and water?"

One of the guards turned to him, eyes bitter. "We're feeding this lot of gypsy scum in a couple hours. You two have had your food for the day."

"No, w-wait!" he begged, clasping the bars desperately. "Please bring us a little more! He's ill! If I can't find him something, he'll die!"

The other man waved him off, scoffing. "No excuses, boy. You've had yours for today. No more."

"Xaldin, why don't you go on ahead? I'm sick of dealing with these unruly ones. I want to get out a little frustration, if you catch me." The other man looked at him oddly for a moment, then shrugged.

"Just don't be too long."

The boy watched as he left, suddenly terrified as the second soldier knelt down to meet his eyes.

"_Pas plus, je vous en supplie!_ For the love of your God, _monsieur!_" If he had to, he was prepared to take the brunt for his beloved, but he doubted either of them could withstand much more senseless violence.

The man's face suddenly grew warmer, surprising Aime as a look of sympathy spreading over his features.

"Don't be afraid. I only said that to be rid of him. My name is Leon." The man looked back at the other prisoners before continuing. "I do not agree with any of this, but I cannot go against the Judge. I imagine you understand the extent of his power."

The redhead scoffed. "We are nothing but playthings, there to torment and amuse his whims."

The shadowy guard nodded. "His power over the city is terrible. I once admired him for his faith and justice, but..." He shook his head. "He has gone mad with power. Even now with the gypsy woman in custody, he still-"

"Wait, Esmeralda? Esmeralda is here?" Aime pressed closer, worried. How did Frollo catch her?

Leon blinked, his eyes narrowing. "Tonight we struck the Court of Miracles. The Hunchback led us right to it, and we captured all within the city."

Slumping against the cold bars, the boy felt aghast. All of their torment, all of the misery they had endured had been meaningless! They had held to each other and to their loyalty, but to what end now?

"And...what will happen to us?" he whispered, his voice harsh and raspy.

"I don't know. But tomorrow the gypsy woman is to burn, and the Judge has demanded that your kind be present to witness."

Burning? So soon? Was that to be their fate as well? He felt tears burning in his eyes. The sanity he had fought to keep hold of was now unhinging. All sorts of hypotheticals sprang to mind, but he ignored them all as mindless, pointless dribble. What if was pointless now. Nothing made sense when you knew you were about to die.

With a look of pity, the soldier sighed. "I can get you some more food and water if you'll stay quiet about it. Perhaps I could spare a blanket for your friend; it's bitterly cold here. Not fit for any man, let alone children like you," he offered kindly.

Aime shook his head, his eyes blank. "What does it matter? We will surely die tomorrow. What is the use of prolonging his suffering?"

Leon frowned at him. "Life is precious. As long as you have it, it should be treasured. That is what I believe."

"You believe the word of a lunatic," the boy snapped back. "Your God has forsaken us, His own people. And to call a monster like that a judge and give him power of justice!"

"Watch yourself, boy," the man hissed back. "You should learn to take what is offered to you. Do I come here to mock you, a pathetic doomed heathen? I think not." The soldier got his feet, and began to turn away. "I thought you would be different, but no. Your kind are all alike. Instead of finding acceptance and hope in the blessings that come to you, you turn away blindly and scorn them..." Eyes drifting into the cell to the unconscious boy behind him, the man shook his head. "Perhaps you should take this time to find out what is precious to you. You will lose it soon enough."

Aime heard his footsteps trailing off, head bowed in shame. The notion of death was not new here; such a threat loomed over them every day. But now that it was defined and immanent, he had given up hope?

"Wait!" The footsteps halted, but the man did not look at him. The redhead could well imagine his expression, regardless. "P-Please forgive my rudeness. You are well within your right to retract the offer, but I beg you." He bowed as low as he could, pride dissolving as he focused his thoughts on his lover. "Please do not punish my friend. Rene is not like us at all. He is kind and innocent, and...a-and I cannot bear for him to die."

If he could only live one more day, however short, he wanted to spend it with Rene. Perhaps it was selfish of him to think thus, but he no longer cared. The time they had left together was his only remaining blessing._  
><em>

Leon turned to look at him slightly. When his eyes could find no falseness, he sighed. "Very well. I will be back shortly." The door shut with a slam, and Aime could hear the mutterings and cries of the other prisoners once more. The air was saturated with fear, despair, and anger.

Crawling back to Rene's side, he began to think. They only had until morning for sure, and then...then it was murkier, but he was sure their fate was sealed. Frollo's contempt for gypsies was well-known. Now that he had what he wanted, they were no longer of use to him, and unless things were easily cast off...

Spooning against his lover, Aime felt him stir.

"How are you feeling?"

The blonde coughed. "Alright. Better, I think," With some effort, he rolled over, throwing his arms around the older boy and holding him close. Aime could see his eyes were haggard and blood shot, but he seemed conscious. With a heavy heart, Aime gave him the news, and waited silently as he registered it.

Hazy blue eyes met his gaze slowly, sadly. "So tomorrow then?"

"_Je crains que si._ I do not know when, but we have to prepare for it at any moment." He could not imagine the pain of seeing Rene murdered, or the agony his love would feel in that predicament. Perhaps especially the latter.

"I suppose escape is not a possible option?"

The older boy almost scoffed. "In our conditions? Maybe in my wildest daydreams it could be possible, but not in real life, Rene." Real life was not sugar-coated at all.

"Make love to me."

"What?" In the midst of suck dark thoughts, that was the last thing he expected. Rene gazed up at him, lifting a calloused hand to touch his battered cheek.

"If this is all the time we have left, I want to make something of it. When everyone is asleep, please make love to me." Blue eyes filled with tears at those words, Aime felt his own misting over, blurring the vision of his lover. That way, he almost couldn't see the cuts and bruises lining his face, the unhealthy flush, or even the cell around them. "I want to be with you until the end."

"Of course, _mon chéri__."_ Aime felt he wanted the same; one more happy memory they could share. He kissed the blonde's forehead softly, holding him until the guard returned. Leon returned shortly, and he gratefully accepted the tattered old blanket along with the food and water, blessing the man for his kindness. Sharing the food in silence, they snuggled up together under the sheet, not comfortable but better than they had been. It seemed fate had decided to offer them some light in this miserable place. To their relief, Rene's fever had finally broken.

Calm before the storm. They waited until the other guards had come and gone, the outer door locked and no sounds stirring in the dark.

Then they fell into each other's embrace, paying no head to the weariness of their minds and bodies, or even to their neighbors in this awful prison. Together, they devoted their very last night on this earth to each other, and a love that would surely condemn them even beyond death.

And Aime revealed everything. All that had been shrouded in secret, all the unsavory things he had done in the gypsy employ. Stealing, beating, and most ashamedly, the cold-blooded murder. He told his lover everything, watched him weep and wept with him, begging forgiveness for all he had done.

"I'm so sorry, Rene. So, so sorry..."

He could never be fully forgiven; he had betrayed his lover's trust and gone against his wishes too many times to count. But Rene did not turn away from him. If anything, their love was more passionate, filled with heart break but also a new understanding. They would leave with no bad blood between them, no dark secrets left unheard.

"I will always love you," the blonde whispered to him, drawing him closer. "In the next life, I'll find you again. I promise you."

With tears in his eyes, Aime kissed him deeply. "And I you,_ chéri._"


	7. Chapter 7

_ God help the outcasts_

_ The children of God_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Paris had never seemed so cruel as it did this day.

The guard had come for them in the morning, and dragged them both outside, into separate groups of condemned. But Aime's eyes followed him everywhere he went, until Rene couldn't even see him anymore.

He feared that was the last time he'd ever see him.

He stumbled on his own, his ankle still swollen and painful, and he winced at the light of the outside world, even covered in thick clouds and smoke as it was. Fires still burned across the city, but the only fire the boy cared about was the one waiting to consume Esmeralda. The ones that would follow, swallowing up his friends, Aime, and, soon enough, himself.

His tutors and maids had taught him about Heaven and Hell when he was very young. Hell was the place bad people went, where they burned for all eternity. It was a terrible place of torture and suffering and divine justice. It frightened him, and filled his heart with a sense of wrongness.

The blonde obeyed his parents and guardians, went to mass and confession as bidden, but he didn't like to think much about the afterlife, nor speak with God much on his own. But now that he was about to knock at death's door, he couldn't help but wonder. Where was he bound?

Rene shivered, hugging himself tightly.

All of the gypsies had been given white clothes and loaded into large, caged wagons like animals. But at least animals weren't often overcrowded and pressed together. The sheer amount of bodies, all varyingly scented with blood, sweat, and urine, made him dizzy and nauseous. There were men, women, and children alike; some sobbing, some swearing and pounding away at the cage, some standing still and grim, their faces hardened as the wagon lurched into motion. Rene would have fallen if not for the heavy man pressed up against his back.

The ride to the square was far too quick.

Frollo stood atop a large platform, and with him, in the middle of it all, was Esmeralda, bound to a post.

Esmeralda's face was a twist of fear and anger. Rene had seldom seen a look like it, at least when he had spent time with her. She was young and friendly, impish at times, but the closest thing to a mother, or perhaps more fitting, a sister, that he'd ever really had.

Rene wept a little at the sight, and the gypsies all around let out a cry of protest.

Then the townspeople echoed them.

He looked to them, shocked. They were defending her?

_'But...why should they care?' _he thought to himself. Didn't most people despise the gypsies as common thieves and degenerates?

A man near the cage shouted, "She is innocent!"

Rene looked to the crowd, but couldn't find who had spoken. All of the men seemed to be fighting the soldiers, trying to get up to Frollo and stop this madness. Could people have finally seen through the lies? Had Esmeralda shown them the way?

He didn't dare hope now, but still...the thought brought him comfort somehow, however small it was.

Rene looked across to the cages beside his, but he couldn't catch sight of Aime anywhere. For a moment, he thought back to their night of desperate passion, his first time, and he hugged himself again.

Then Frollo began speaking to the crowd, calling Esmeralda an "evil witch" who had brought Paris to chaos and ruin, and who he would personally dispatch today. More angry, protesting shouts erupted from everyone, but the soldiers held the free folk back. The gypsies seemed to have forgotten the fear for their own lives, as the wagon began to shake and shift when the people nearest to the bars began shaking and ramming them.

Then Frollo turned to Esmeralda and said something Rene couldn't hear. He looked smug, holding his torch aloft, until Esmeralda spat him right in the face.

It startled a laugh out of the boy, despite the grimness of the situation. But Rene sobered quickly as Frollo spoke to the crowd again, spouting more pompous, pretentious calling Esmeralda an unholy demon, and claiming he'd send her back where she belonged.

The world seemed to stop for a moment when he finally lit the fire.

Rene swore he heard a loud, bellowing "no!" before it was drowned out by his and everyone else's cries. He was shoved against the bars by the people behind him, but he barely cared, screaming and reaching out in vain as one of his only true friends in life was surrounded by flames.

The fire spread over the wood at her feet and began to lick upwards. It wasn't touching her immediately, but the smoke was so close and suffocating that she began to cough.

"Esmeralda!" he shouted again, cursing himself over and over again. Someone had to stop this!

And thankfully, someone did.

"Up there!" An older miller pointed.

Rene looked up and saw the hunchback swinging down from the cathedral on a long rope. The crowd gasped and cheered as he landed, freeing Esmeralda and scooping her up over his shoulder.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_The man was large, strange, and somewhat gnarled, but he looked so shamefaced in that moment as Rene approached him. So timid. He almost backed away._

_"Please...don't."_

_The blonde blinked, but did not stop. Esmeralda was drawing the soldiers away from the hunchback, and entertaining the mob with their humiliation. All this he barely noticed in passing._

_'There's something about him...' _

_Esmeralda must have seen it too._

_"I won't hurt you," he assured the larger man, reaching out and touching his face. The hunchback flinched, but didn't draw back much further. "I'm still not convinced you are real."_

_"W-What do you mean?"_

_Rene smiled a little. "I've heard all kinds of stories about you, but I thought they were only that. Stories." He looked into both eyes, one normal and one strange, but found nothing malicious there. _

_He found the lonely look of a fellow outcast. Misunderstood, like the gypsies. _

_"I'm sorry this happened to you." He tried to think of something else to say, as he smiled sadly. "People are...like bells. They come in all shapes and sizes, and make different sounds, but they're no less beautiful to listen to. I only wish more people would understand that, and be kinder. They don't...listen very well."_

_The hunchback looked at him, almost startled for a moment, but he shakily nodded. _

_"Are you...-?"_

_Suddenly, someone grabbed Rene from behind and spun him around. It was a soldier._

_When he managed to look back, the hunchback had hopped off the platform and out of sight._

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _

A couple of guards moved to climb onto the platform, but the hunchback scowled and ripped the burning pole she'd been bound to from its place and knocked them all back. He swung back up and scaled the cathedral, as swift and surefooted as a cat, and held Esmeralda above his head for all to see.

"SANCTUARY!"

He shouted it three times, and each time, the crowd let out a cheer.

Rene joined them, smiling gratefully up at the deformed man. He truly was a kind person.

But Frollo was not defeated. He called to his captain to seize the cathedral, and the soldiers rushed to the main doors.

Before they could reach them, a large beam of wood fell from the top of Notre Dame. Everyone scattered, and the beam fell upon Frollo's imposing iron carriage, shattering it into pieces.

"Come back, you cowards!"

Frollo ran to his captain and drew his sword, ordering the remaining men guarding the wagons to break down the door.

Rene shook the bars and grit his teeth in frustration. How could they do this? Was Frollo mad?

"Citizens of Paris!"

Startled by the new voice, the blonde looked to the wagon nearest to the platform. A man with short blonde hair and a thick, stubbled chin had broken free of his crate and climbed atop it. As he motioned to the free people, still standing idle and awed by the hunchback's daring rescue, he looked somehow familiar to Rene. Even as hope sprang forth inside him once again, his thoughts were consumed by the man's face.

He wasn't a gypsy, though he was dressed in similar clothes. And he spoke with a stern authority that not even Clopin could manage.

_'But where have I-?'_

"Frollo has persecuted our people!" the man cried. "Ransacked our city! Now, he has declared war on Notre Dame herself!"

The mob shouted, growing increasingly angrier. Rene looked around them, realizing that most of the guards had run off, or were attempting to storm the cathedral. The prisoners and townsfolk were barely guarded now.

"Will we allow it?!"

Another loud cry answered him, and the blonde boy watched, astonished, as the people who had once shunned and reviled the gypsies began busting the locks and doors, freeing the prisoners and arming them.

His wagon opened, and Rene stumbled as the sea of people holding him in place poured out into the square, tugging him with them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Someone tried to pass him a set of strange, wheel-like weapons, and Aime almost refused. But looking out into the mob, with the townspeople attacking the soldiers and drawing them away from Notre Dame, he realized he would need it just to get through.

_"Merci."_

He took off into the crowd, using the blades to block incoming blows and slice through defenses. He was clumsy at first, still frustratingly weak and unfamiliar with the weapons, but adapted slowly, finding that he liked the flow and range of motion the blades allowed. It felt almost as effortless as his daggers and flaming batons.

The other commoners and gypsies paid him no head, but a guard would try to cut him down, and he would respond in kind. It was very difficult, but he managed.

He could not die here.

_'Rene...'_

He crossed the square and looked to each caged wagon, calling for his lover over the din.

"Aime!"

The redhead jolted at the call, his head snapping to the right. Limping towards him, using a large pitchfork as a walking stick, was the boy he'd feared he'd never see again.

He ran to him and gathered the other in his arms, dropping his weapons and his guard as his thoughts centered on one fact and one fact alone.

_'We're free. We survived!' _He began to cry with relief, and knew from the shivering body pressed against him that Rene had too.

Somehow, this was the highest feeling of joy he had ever known. It was insane, with so much violence and death happening all around them.

Freedom.

"Rene...oh, thank God you're safe." He kissed his lover's forehead and held him back at arm's length. "Are you-?"

"Look out!"

Before he could even realize the danger, Aime felt Rene slide from his grasp and spin behind him, barely maintaining his balance as he raised his pitchfork.

A soldier's blade sliced the tool in half, sending Rene to the ground. The blade would have cut through Aime's shoulder, if it had been given the chance.

"Filth."

With a growl, Aime bent and retrieved his weapons, quick as a striking snake, and sent the man staggering back with a few blows to his armored chest.

"it's time you zealous bigots learned some manners!"

Finally, he knocked the man down and out, then hurried to help his lover to his feet. The blonde was breathless, tired and dizzy looking.

"We can't stay here!" he shouted.

"B-But...Where will we go?" Rene asked, leaning heavily against him. "We have no money!"

Aime shook his head and took his hand, pulling the younger boy with him. "Come with me!"

Their movements were slow and clumsy. They had to continually stop to fight their way through the surging mass of people, and even help some of their troupe where they could.

Aime had been so fearful that they would reveal precious secrets to Frollo and his men, that his mind screamed for them to leave Paris completely. In the confusion, they could slip away into the night...

But Rene was right. They had no money, no connections, and no papers. They'd be poor street urchins again, just in a whole new city.

And they hadn't done anything wrong. They hadn't betrayed the gypsies, and no one ever need know how close he'd come.

For a moment, Aime looked to the burning city all around them, and his tearing green eyes caught sight of black.

Clopin kicked a man to the ground and moved to attack another. He moved with an almost inhuman grace, slender but fluid, almost completely taking the soldiers by surprised. His jolly, carefree expression belied the cunning underneath, and his eyes were hard and grim beneath the mask, giving an odd light to his smile.

For a moment of calm, he looked over and locked eyes with Aime. The redhead could practically feel him staring into his soul, reading everything there...

Then his eyes softened, and he nodded to them.

Aime nodded back, a grateful, tired smile tugging at his own lips.

Rene had not seen him, and looked up at his lover questioningly. "What is it, Aime?" He followed his gaze, but found nothing.

The older boy looked for a moment longer.

"Let's going see to the state of the Court of Miracles."

So as quickly and quietly as they could manage, the two weary, beaten boys fled the square without a second look.


End file.
